Vince Flynn - The Last Man

Ashan took the pages and felt his world slipping from him. He had never seen these pages before, but he was smart enough to recognize what they were. “These are not mine.”

“Then why did my men find them taped to the underside of one of your desk drawers last night?” Nassir asked.

“They are not mine. How do I know that your men didn’t put them there?”

Nassir looked to Taj and shook his head in disappointment.

“Director General, you have to believe me. I am not a spy for the Americans, or anyone else, and that is not my Swiss bank account. I have never seen those documents.”

“But you do have a Swiss bank account?” Nassir asked.

Durrani intervened before Ashan could answer the question. “Who doesn’t have a Swiss bank account? Let’s cut through all the crap. We are all intelligence professionals. Every single one of us has at least one Swiss bank account. Those sheets mean nothing.”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” Taj announced. “The Swiss bank account we can handle. As Akhtar said, once you rise to this level, Swiss bank accounts are part of the job. But the American clandestine officer saying that you are a CIA agent… that is something that is not easy to undo, even if it is a lie.”

“It is a lie!” Ashan protested vehemently. “I am not a CIA agent.” Looking from face to face Ashan realized that none of them believed him. Even Durrani wouldn’t look at him. “Akhtar, surely you don’t believe that I would sink so low?”

“You’re a better man than the three of us, and I think this all a complete fabrication, but,” Durrani said, looking angrily at Taj, “I have no say in the matter, and apparently we aren’t going to take the time to find the truth.”

It didn’t sink in at first. Ashan looked at Taj with confusion. “What is he saying?”

Taj leaned forward and stabbed out his cigarette. “The president called me just before you arrived. I’m sorry, there’s no other way to say this. He wants you sacked.”

The words drifted over him as Ashan attempted to process the finality of it all. His jaw hung loose and he asked, “Just like that.. after more than thirty years of honorable service?”

“This is bigger than you… it’s bigger than us… it’s bigger than the ISI. It’s my hope that you will be proven guiltless of all charges, but the president wants action now. We need to look strong. We cannot afford to look like America’s puppet.”

“At least let him step down on his own,” Durrani said. “Let him make a statement. We could even spin it in our favor. He could say that for the sake of clarity he is going to step down. And then he can say something about an American plot to interfere with the sovereignty of Pakistan.”

Ashan was having an out-of-body experience. He watched Taj shake his head and say, “The president is adamant. He wants him fired this morning. I’m sorry it has to be this way, Nadeem. For what it’s worth, I think you are a good and honorable man. I’m sorry, but you and the rest of your family will be placed under house arrest until the investigation is over.”

Ashan stood, without saying a word. He suddenly felt as if he was going to be sick. He left Taj’s office to find a half dozen men in uniform waiting. Arguing would be useless. If the president were involved there would be no fighting his dismissal. He did not understand how his life had been so thoroughly upended. As he walked down the hall surrounded by the men, he told himself to remain calm. There would be time to figure out what had happened, and, he hoped, to discover who was behind this.

Rappahannock County, Virginia

Rapp and Hurley reviewed the file. Nash, Schneeman, and Coleman had done the bulk of the interrogations with Lewis providing a brief psychological evaluation. Gould had been very uncooperative, repeating the same things over and over and insisting that he was done talking to anyone other than Rapp. It was total bullshit. The two veterans could smell it from a mile away. Gould was weaving partial truths with outright lies in an effort to hold on to some negotiating chip. From Rapp’s perspective none of it mattered. The only negotiating chip that would work with Rapp was the truth.

Unlike the transcripts, which were worthless, the surveillance footage of Rapp that had been shot by Gould before the assassination proved rather interesting. It took just two viewings for Rapp and Hurley to see what had spooked Gould. Someone with less field experience would have missed it. Hurley and Rapp were so attuned to the normal rhythms of a street that the two men jumped out at them.

Rapp took the steps to the basement and hit the buzzer on the metal door. They turned their heads skyward for the camera, and then when he heard the buzz of the lock Rapp opened the door. The room was rectangular, with two large viewing windows for each cell. Gould was in the cell on the left and the one on the right was unoccupied. Big Joe Maslick was sitting at the control desk.

“How’s it going, Joe?” Rapp asked.

“Boring as shit. What’s with the Zurich trip… did I get bumped?” “Not my call, Joe. Sorry… Irene’s running the show.” “Is it my shoulder?” Maslick moved his arm around. “It’s fine… just a little scratch.”

Rapp knew that wasn’t true. Maslick had been shot at the veterinary clinic in Kabul. Kennedy had told Rapp the doctors were nervous that there might be some nerve damage, but they wouldn’t know until he’d completed at least another month of physical therapy. The bigger concern was that his best friend Mick Reavers had been killed in the same attack. Lewis wanted to make sure Maslick was coping before they sent him back out in the field.

“You’ll have to bring it up with Kennedy.” Rapp took the file in his hand and pointed at Gould’s cell. “What’s he up to?”

“Nothing.” Maslick rocked back in his chair. “He keeps asking to see you. It’d drive me nuts if it wasn’t for the fact that the prick probably saved our lives.”

“How do you mean?”

“For starters, he could have plugged you the second you stepped out of the vehicle, back in Kabul. After that… once the shooting started,” Maslick shook his head, “he kept those dogs at bay. If he hadn’t been up on the roof with me… we would have been fucked.”

“You been talking to him?” Rapp asked while he pointed at Gould, who was lying on his bed.

“No… not really.”

“Keep it that way. What’s the status on the video and audio?”

“It’s on.”

“Take ’em both offline.”

Maslick looked uncomfortable. “Sorry, but Irene said she wants everything recorded.”

Rapp was pissed. “Come on!”

“She was adamant, Mitch. She told me you’d want it turned off and that under no circumstances was I to allow that. She also said you need to check your guns.”

Turning to Hurley, Rapp said, “What the hell?”

Hurley offered a shrug and said, “Who gives a shit? So she and doc are going to want to slice and dice your performance? That’s nothing knew.” Hurley drew his 1911 from his hip holster and set it on the desk. “Let’s go.” Hurley motioned at Rapp to do the same and said, “Come on.”

Maslick disengaged the lock and Rapp entered the cell, Hurley behind him. The interrogation table was bolted to the concrete floor, as were the chairs on each side. The bed was also bolted to the floor, and next to it was a toilet with no seat and a small sink. The floor was coated with three inches of black rubber to cushion any falls, and the walls and ceiling were covered in gray foam acoustic tiles that enabled the microphones to catch even the softest whisper.

Rapp set the file on the table and pointed to the chair on the other side. Gould slowly unclasped his hands from behind his head and sat up. “Who’s that?” he asked, looking past Rapp.”